The Bride Wore Black Leather

was no sign of any Garden beyond; only an impenetrable blackness.

“Are you sure you couldn’t have found that?” said Julien.

“What?” I said. “And miss out on your fascinating and enlightening briefing? You know you love to lecture people.”

“I do, don’t I?” said Julien.

A Druidic Sister stepped abruptly out of the darkness to stand before us, resplendent in pristine white robes and wearing a crown of plaited mistletoe. She was a tall, powerfully built woman, with a calm, serene face. She projected a natural grace and spirituality, and smiled benevolently on us.

“I am Sister Dorethea, of the Very Righteous Sisters of the Holy Druids, and I welcome you both to the Garden of Green Henge. Oh bloody hell, it’s John Taylor.”

She scowled at me balefully while Julien did his best to hide a smile.

“You must get that a lot, John.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Yes, Sister; I am John Taylor, the newly appointed Walker. And this is . . .”

“Oh, I know who he is,” said Sister Dorethea, losing her scowl to smile at Julien Advent. “The Great Victorian Adventurer is known to all of us here and is always welcome to enter the Garden of Green Henge. But you, Taylor, your reputation precedes you. You only get to come in on sufferance because you’re with him. So watch your manners, don’t go straying from the path, and don’t touch anything.”

I nodded. I always let people set their own restrictions, if only so I can have the fun of breaking them.

“Are you real Druids?” I said innocently. “I mean, if the Stones are fake . . .”

She gave me a full-on look of withering scorn. “The Stones are not fake. They are all real menhirs, transported from the south-west of England, from the small town of Avebury. Apparently because they had so many, it was felt they could spare some. The Circles may be . . . more recent, but the Stones are in every way real, and we venerate them as such. The Garden is a sacred site. So watch yourself, Taylor.”

“Do you do souvenirs?” I asked.

She turned away from me with magnificent disdain and introduced herself to Julien Advent, who was, of course, perfectly charming and polite. I never really got the hang of either of those. I took the opportunity to study Sister Dorethea’s face, that being all there was of her that wasn’t covered by voluminous robes. She had the look of a lady of a certain age, where all the children have left home but haven’t got around to providing grandchildren yet. Leaving the lady in question with a big gap in her life that she had to fill with something. Good causes usually suffice, but out-of-the-way religions and beliefs often come a close second. If there isn’t a local swingers’ club. And, of course, the Nightside is no stranger to those with too much time on their hands, and is always happy to provide unusual opportunities. Very Righteous Sisters my arse.

Didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, though.

Julien soon had Sister Dorethea smiling and cooing, and she led him through the darkness at the rear of the alcove. I hurried after them, not wanting to be left behind or left out of anything. I plunged into the dark and almost immediately stumbled to a halt again as the darkness was replaced by the silver-grey of a late evening in the countryside. I also heard the alcove closing itself very firmly behind me. Though whether to keep the scavengers out, or Julien and me in, remained to be seen. I looked cautiously about me. I was standing on a wide-open moor, in the twilight of the evening. Night had only just begun to fall here, though the full moon shone brightly overhead, fully as oversized as it was everywhere else in the Nightside. I glanced behind me, and of course the great wall was gone. Open and empty, the moorland stretched away unbroken for miles.

We were in a pocket dimension, a small reality enclosed within a greater one, maintained by the magics built into the surrounding wall. There are a great many worlds within worlds, in the Nightside. It’s the only way we can fit everything in. The moor stretched away before me, all the way to a far-off horizon. And I had to wonder why they needed so much space, to hold a Circle of Standing Stones. A cold wind blew, in sudden chilly gusts, wuthering in the quiet twilight. Not all that far-away stood a massive hedgerow maze, maybe half a mile across, with the rows a good ten to twelve feet high. I’d heard of this maze. Green Henge was set right at the heart and centre of the maze, hidden from view by the tall green walls. Only the Very Righteous Sisters knew all the secrets of the maze, and so controlled access to the Stones.

Sister Dorethea led us forward at a brisk, imperious pace. The ground was covered with scrubby grass and dry moss, which crunched loudly under our feet. As we drew closer, I could make out more Very Righteous Sisters, moving unhurriedly in and out of the various entrances to the maze, quietly going about their business like so many white-clad bees tending their hive. None of them so much as glanced in our direction. I couldn’t help noticing that there were only women present, not a single man to be seen anywhere.

“I couldn’t help noticing . . .” I said to Sister Dorethea.

“Yes, yes, I know; we’re all women here, whereas the original Druids famously didn’t allow women to be priests. According to the few records that survive from that time, mostly written down by the Romans, who didn’t approve of the Druids anyway. But that was then, and this is now. Green Henge may have started out as a folly, but years of veneration have made the Standing Stones sacred again, and the Sisterhood is entirely real if not actually entirely authentic. We’ve been in charge here for ages, because no-one else could be bothered with the time and devotion necessary to ensure the upkeep of the Stones, and Green Henge.”

“So if they want to be wrong, let them,” murmured Julien.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was wondering why there aren’t any men here.”

“Because they get in the way!” snapped Sister Dorethea. “They are a distraction! We have all given up much to become Sisters to the Stones. We are all of us pure and pristine, and we have every intention of remaining that way.”

She stuck her nose in the air and headed straight for the maze. So Julien and I quite naturally slowed our pace, to show we weren’t going to be hurried.

“Shouldn’t a garden have, well, flowers and stuff?” I said. “All I can see is moorland, and not even a trace of heather.”

“I can hear you!” said Sister Dorethea, not lowering herself to look back. “The moor was designed to be this way. No distractions, remember? It is we, the Sisterhood, who grow here, through our service to the Stones. This is a Garden of Stone, where we beat ourselves against the hard surfaces every day to purify ourselves, that we might flourish and blossom and bloom. Spiritually speaking.”

“Right,” I said. “You go, Sister. Spiritually speaking. But I still have to ask, What is Green Henge for? Exactly? What does it do?”

“It weeds out the unworthy,” Sister Dorethea said sternly. “And encourages proper growth. You’ll see. Only the pure of intent can pass through the maze, to reach the Circle of Standing Stones and the glory of Green Henge.”

“That’s it?” said Julien, after a while.

“Isn’t that enough?” countered the Sister. “Beware the Ring of Stones and bow down to Green Henge. They are powerful, and significant beyond your mere mortal understanding.”

I looked at Julien. “This place may have started out as a folly, but it isn’t any more. If enough people believe in a thing, it becomes real. Especially in the Nightside. Green Henge might have been created here to someone’s fashionable scheme, but it’s become the real deal. Still not too clear on the Druid connection, though . . . Do you still practise human sacrifice here, Sister Dorethea?”

“Of course not!” she said though she didn’t sound nearly shocked enough for my liking. “We’re not that kind of Druid!”

I was still considering pressing the matter, as to exactly what kind of Druid she was, when Dorethea finally brought us to the entrance of the hedgerow maze. No sign, no map, nothing but a dark opening. The heavy green hedge walls towered above us, stretching away on every side. The maze was frankly huge, and gave every indication of being big enough to contain half a dozen Henges. The hedge walls were composed of some unfamiliar dark green vegetation, with flat serrated leaves and heavy bone yellow thorns. The passage between the walls was barely wide enough to allow Julien and me to walk through side by side. The only light was shimmering moonlight, grey and blue-white, and there were far too many deep, dark shadows for my liking. I turned to Sister Dorethea, expecting her to lead us in, but she stepped back and waved for Julien and me to go on in, bestowing on us a decidedly knowing smile. I stood my ground.

“How long is it going to take us to get to the centre, to the Stones? We haven’t got all night.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” said Sister Dorethea. “The way depends on you.”